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"Damn!" Matt waved a hand, his brain stalling. He knew Stefan knew how many times he'd been injured; that was part of the game. "Do I have to tell you about how I broke my arm when I was five and nobody knew for about a week because—"
"You really don't understand, do you? At least, not consciously. Taking somebody's blood when they're resisting hurts. More than anything you can think of."
"I'm not resisting."
"You will be."
"Just quit with the mindreading or the psychoanalysis or whatever. This could've been over by now."
Matt's eyes had adjusted enough by now that he could make out some features in the dim figure that faced him. He could see Stefan's mouth twist grimly as well as hear the little sound of exasperation.
"Fine. You don't have to take that off. There's a vein in the wrist that works just as well."
Meredith and Bonnie had both been holding a hand to the side of their necks; Bonnie a trifle absently. Matt looked at his dim arms.
"If there's any kind of fighting tonight I'm going to need these."
"Fine. Sit."
Matt looked at the bed, then the chair. "I have to sit?"
"No. You can fall if you want. Your choice."
"You really are a bastard, you know? You're trying to scare me."
"Yes," Stefan said, with a terrifying lack of expression. He leaned in. "I am trying to scare you because I would rather scare you than hurt you."
"I don't care if you hurt me!" This was crazy. Matt sat on the bed, tipped his chin back, and shut his eyes like someone awaiting lethal injection. He made his mind as blank as possible.
It seemed a long time before Stefan said, in that same clipped, expressionless voice,
"Fine. Your funeral."
"You know something? From a vampire, that isn't funny."
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
Matt felt him sit on the bed. And then cool fingertips were gripping his jaw, adjusting the angle of his head with the precision and unemotional professionalism of a surgeon.
Blank, blank, blank, he thought. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides.
How did Bonnie and Meredith do this? How do you hold still and wait for the snake to bite? Bonnie's frightened of thunderstorms; she cries if she cuts her finger. How could they possibly have been better, stronger, more courageous about this?
God, you're dumb, something in his brain informed him, and then turned its back on him and refused to say anything else.
The pain wasn't nearly as bad as he'd been imagining. Vampire canines were sharp.
And, after all, Stefan knew what he was doing; he did this all the time.
Damn, that's it? I got myself all worked up over that? The last time I had bloodwork it hurt way more than that; that idiot doctor couldn't even find a vein. No wonder . . .
He felt coolwarmth on the side of his neck and the world exploded in agony. He couldn't breathe. His soul was being ripped out of his body while it was still alive.
It stopped.
Matt's mind caught up with the fact that he wasn't dying anymore a few minutes later. He was doubled over, arms wrapped around himself, trying not to sob.
"I . . . told you," Stefan's voice said. Stefan's voice was shaking with anger; he could feel Stefan shaking with anger, and strain—and something else. Grief, maybe. Selfhatred.
